


The Life and Times of Kiyotaka Ishimaru

by StarXrossed



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 17:44:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarXrossed/pseuds/StarXrossed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A high school AU of a story about high schoolers, where the cast of Dangan Ronpa and Super Dangan Ronpa 2 all attend Hope's Peak Academy.  Written as a series of drabbles from the obviously unbiased point of view of Ishimaru.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 001

It went without saying that Kiyotaka Ishimaru was not happy about the situation.

In fact, he was more than “not happy.”

He was irritated.  Unamused.  Actually, kind of  _pissed._

He had returned from classes that day to find an envelope shoved under his door.  Unsure of what to expect, he’d opened it hesitantly, read every word carefully.  Even now, he skimmed the typed letter again, as if doing so would change the meaning the words carried.  

But alas, it did not.  The message was a notice from the school authorities, alerting him that later that day, he would be receiving a new roommate.  Ishimaru had considered himself lucky—he had managed to get a two-bedroom dorm to himself for the last few weeks, and he’d grown accustomed to the quiet and the space.  It seemed, however, the peace had come to an end.  

He sighed.  Well.  Perhaps his new roommate wouldn’t be so bad!  A pleasant, proper fellow like himself with whom he could chat about classes and rules and new workout schedules and…whatever other things roommates talked about.  

He was still entertaining this thought when he heard someone rapping at his door.  He spun on his heels—he now realized he had been pacing—and exhaled a few times before striding over to the door and throwing it open.  

“Welcome to—oh.  Oowada-kun.”  Ishimaru frowned a little; he’d not been expecting the pompadour-haired gang leader that stood before him.  ”How may I help you?  I am a little busy at the moment, I’m expecting a visitor—well, not really a visitor, but—”

“A new roommate,” Mondo said, arching an eyebrow.

“I.  Um.  Yes.  How did you know that, Oowada-kun?”

Mondo sidestepped, pointing to several large bags behind him.  ”Guess who the lucky fucker is.”

Ishimaru stared blankly at the man for a moment, his mouth opening and closing uselessly as he struggled to form actual words.  Mondo.  As his roommate.   _Mondo Oowada,_  infamous throughout the school and the entire  _district_  for his motorcycle gang.  The man who refused to go to class, who spray painted obscenities on signs for kicks, who started fights at the slightest thing.  A super high-school level  _delinquent._  

That was his new roommate.

“Yeah, so I’m gonna go ahead and move my shit in,” Mondo muttered, grabbing a bag and pushing his way past Ishimaru into the apartment.  It took Ishimaru a moment to draw himself from his thoughts, but by then Mondo was already tromping through the living room.  He wheeled around and arched an eyebrow at the hall monitor.  ”Oi.  Which is the one you aren’t using?”

“The one on the right, but there must be some misunders—”

“Look, I’m not fuckin’ happy about this either,” Mondo snapped.  ”But the water pipes in my room broke, and they said I had to go live with someone else while they tried to fix it all up—”

“Who said I was unhappy?” Ishimaru said hurriedly.  He obviously was, and he knew he was doing a bad job of hiding it, but he was a gentleman.  He felt he at least needed to act the part.  For the time being, anyway.  ”Please, make yourself at home!  Do you need any help with your belongings, Oowada-kun?”

Mondo looked Ishimaru up and down, his lips drawn in a tight line that sharply contrasted Ishimaru’s own smile.  ”I got it covered.” 

“R-right.  Well!  If you do need any help, I shall be in the next room over.  Please let me know if there’s anything I can do!” Ishimaru responded, his voice as cheerful as he could manage in the situation.  More quickly than he meant to, he retreated to his bedroom.  Once safely behind closed doors, he let his face fall, knitting his brow and exhaling sharply.  Yes, he was irritated.

Unamused.

In all honesty, kind of  _pissed._


	2. 002

It took exactly one week for Ishimaru to realize just how bad his situation was.  

Ishimaru lived his life by a schedule.  His days were carefully planned out, the proper amount of time allotted to each activity.  He woke up at five and was in bed by ten and was still able to accomplish everything he deemed necessary.  He prided himself in his adherence to such a regimen.

Mondo, however, was making it exceedingly difficult for him to stay on schedule.

The first few days passed relatively smoothly.  Ishimaru was able to wake up, run his two-point-five miles, follow up with his 100 sit-ups and 100 push-ups, take a brief warm shower, drink one cup of coffee with exactly one teaspoon of sugar, and consume two slices of toast before putting on his uniform and leaving his dorm at exactly seven-thirty.  He knew Mondo was still asleep when he left—he could hear him snoring—but Ishimaru always left earlier than necessary, so he didn’t trifle with waking the taller boy up.  

Before he left the second day, he took the time to slide an envelope under Mondo’s door.  It contained a schedule that clearly outlined Ishimaru’s days, as well as a list of apartment rules.  When Ishimaru returned after his evening run, he found the schedule and list ripped into small chunks and scattered across the living room, with no Mondo in sight.  

As the days passed, Mondo went more and more out of his way to antagonize Ishimaru.  He knew he was doing it on purpose—he  _knew_  it.  There was no way a person could get that much oil and grime on a shirt and still feel it was okay to leave it lying in the middle of the floor.  There was no way a person could leave so many dirty dishes strewn about and not see a need to clean them up.  There was no way a person could tromp so much dirt through the living room and not deem it necessary to clean it up.  There was  _no way_  Mondo was not doing this on purpose.  

Ishimaru could feel his patience wearing thin, could  _literally_  feel himself grow more and more exasperated with every passing day.  He did his best to hold his tongue, taking his spare time to clean up after the messes Mondo left.  He couldn’t resist taping another schedule and list of rules to Mondo’s door, though.  He knew it was passive-aggressive, but at the time, it was better than a full-on confrontation.  (He did later find both sheets of paper shoved in the trash pin, however.)

He reached his limit the seventh morning, however, when he returned from his jog.  He started to retreat to his room for the second half of his work-out, when he noticed a crumpled paper plate and a napkin littering the table, crumbs scattered all about.  

He felt his eye twitch.  His lips drew back into a thin, hard line.  Mondo must have gotten up in the middle of the night and eaten something.  And he must have “forgotten” to clean up.  Well.  Ishimaru would have to address that problem later; he was beginning to grow weary of cleaning up all of Mondo’s messes.

It wasn’t until after he had showered and prepared his cup of coffee when Ishimaru discovered the source of the crumbs.  He rummaged through the pantry for a moment before it dawned on him.

Mondo had eaten the last of the toast.

Ishimaru always had toast for breakfast, and there was no toast left in the dorm.

_That_  was Ishimaru’s breaking point.

He slammed his hands down on the counter, wheeled around, stormed through the apartment to the other bedroom.  ”Mondo!   _Mondo!_ ”  He banged on the door several times, even went so far as to kick it when he didn’t get a response.  After several minutes of assaulting the door and muttering obscenities under his breath, Ishimaru finally conceded that perhaps Mondo was not in the apartment.  He exhaled in a slow hiss, clenching and unclenching his fists.  It couldn’t be helped.  He was going to be late.  He’d deal with the situation later.

Needless to say, he had taken for granted just how pleasant his living arrangement had been a week prior.  Now he regretted it, as he gulped down lukewarm coffee and grabbed his books.  As he left, he slammed the door louder than he’d meant, and he heard something fall inside the apartment.  Probably a picture frame.  He didn’t have time to investigate the source, though, so he settled for an irritated groan and a quicker gait than he would have normally had.

Ishimaru was good with rules.  Adaptability?  That was another story entirely.


	3. 003

Ishimaru’s day only got progressively worse.  

Over the course of eight hours, he’d had to put out a small fire in the chemistry lab, head off a minor food fight that had almost gotten out of hand, and break up a fight between the super high-school level animal breeder and the super high-school level mechanic (though, to be fair, that last one was so common of an occurrence he wouldn’t have been fazed had it not been for the prior events that had set him on edge).  

By the time he made it back to his room, he was exhausted.  He pressed his forehead against the cool wood of his door and rifled blindly through his bag for his key.  After a few minutes, he finally found it and let himself in, stumbling through the doorway.  

His eyes fell on the mess on the table, and he felt the anger from the beginning of the day come trickling back.  The original source of his anger, the original problem that had set this disastrous day in motion—the crumbs seemed to taunt him, especially when he realized that he hadn’t had a chance to actually  _eat_  all day.  By this point, however, he was too frustrated and agitated to even feel hunger, and so he busied himself with clearing the mess away.

As he worked, he found himself always returning to the same thought:  _this is Mondo’s fault._   At first, he tried to dismiss the idea—he disliked the idea of blaming his problems on others.  The more he thought about it, though, the more he fixated on it, and the more he came to agree with it.  The delinquent had gone out of his way to make Ishimaru’s life more difficult than necessary.  He left his dirty clothes lying around.  He left dishes strewn about.   _He ate the last of Ishimaru’s toast._

Ishimaru clung to this thought, playing out various scenarios where he gave Mondo a piece of his mind, told the man exactly how he felt about the living arrangement.  He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn’t notice that someone had been knocking at the door for nearly a minute.  When he realized where the rapping sound was coming from, he jolted upright, hastily opening the door.  

“Please, accept my apologizes for keeping you waiting!” he said hurriedly, aware of how flustered he looked.  

“I-it’s quite all right, Ishimaru-san,” the small, brunette girl standing in the doorway murmured, looking up shyly from under her bangs.

It took Ishimaru a moment to realize who was standing there, but when he did, his face split into a friendly smile.  ”Ahh!  Fujisaki-kun!  What a pleasant surprise.”  Ishimaru’s words were genuine—Chihiro Fujisaki was one of the few students who gave him no trouble.  The super high-school level programmer was pleasant to be around, albeit rather shy, but she was a good student.  ”What may I ask brings you here?”

Chihiro glanced awkwardly over her shoulder before motioning behind her.  Ishimaru looked to where Chihiro pointed and frowned.  Sitting in a heap were several small duffel bags, two suitcases, a large array of computer monitors, a pair of CPUs, a large mass of wires and chords, and several other pieces of electronic equipment Ishimaru couldn’t have identified if he tried.  

“I’m m-moving in,” Chihiro murmured quietly, looking down at her feet.

Ishimaru stood in stunned silence for almost half a minute before he regained control of his mental capacities.  Even then, all he could manage was, “B-but why…?”

Chihiro fidgeted, not meeting Ishimaru’s eyes.  ”W-well, there was a minor mishap…with my computers and the dorm’s e-electrical system….  And the school officials d-deemed my room unfit to live in until all the f-fire damage is gone—”

“ _Fire damage_?”  

“—and M-mondo offered to let me stay in his room, a-at least until this all blows over!  I-i hope that’s…o-okay.”

“B-but you’re a female.  A-and this is the male dorm.  How are.  Why are.  F-fujisaki-kun, I understand that you need a place to stay, but I’m sure it’s possible to find an acceptable roommate of the same gender who has a place to stay?”  Ishimaru was only dimly aware of the fact his voice was increasingly rising in pitch; he was too busy reeling from the idea of a  _girl_  staying in his dorm.  In _Mondo’s_  room.

“Oi, Ishimaru.  I told her it was cool for her to crash in my room for a while.  Let it go.”

Ishimaru wheeled around—he had been completely unaware of Mondo’s presence since he’d returned.  Well, then.  He still hadn’t addressed the issues of this morning, and while this wasn’t the ideal time, he’d take any opportunity he could get.  He opened his mouth to say something,  _anything_ , to make Mondo fully aware of how irritated he was with the entire situation.  

He wasn’t expecting Mondo to emerge from his room wearing only a pair of sweatpants and ruffling a towel through his hair.

A single unbidden thought crept through Ishimaru’s mind.

 _Oh no, he’s_  hot. 

“P-put a  _shirt on, Oowada-kun!_ ” he managed to sputter, feeling his cheeks tint with an unwelcome warmth; he hastily added, “Th-there’s a  _lady_  present!”

“Oh, n-no, it’s fine!” Chihiro piped up.  ”I-i’ve seen him shirtless, it d-doesn’t bother me.”

Ishimaru spun around, his eyes wide with incredulity.  ”Y-you—you  _what_?”

“Dude, calm the fuck down, it’s not what you think,” Mondo rolled his eyes, but it was too late.  The gears were already spinning in Ishimaru’s mind, and he was, of course, assuming the worst.

“H-how have you seen him topless?   _Why_  have you seen him topless?”  Ishimaru was only dimly aware of the fact his voice had increased in pitch, now almost a strangled squeak.  ”You’re a dainty young lady!  He’s a thug!  A  _villain_!  A _SCOUNDREL_.”

“HEY.  Who the  _fuck_  are you callin’ a  _scoundrel_?!” Mondo snarled, glaring at Ishimaru. 

“H-he’s really not  _that_  bad!” Chihiro interjected hurriedly.  ”H-he’s…h-he’s my best friend, and I w-wanted to live with him, and—”

“B-but he’s a  _man_!”

“And don’t you fucking forget it,” Mondo muttered irritatedly.

“H-he’s still my best friend, though.”  Chihiro glanced up at Ishimaru apologetically.  ”I-i’m sorry….”

Ishimaru started to argue, but Mondo cut him off.  ”Don’t apologize, Chihiko, it’s fine.  More than welcome to stay in my room.”  He elbowed Ishimaru out of the doorway, grabbing several of Chihiro’s duffel bags and shoving a computer monitor under his arm.  Ishimaru could only gape as the super high school level  _delinquent_ toted the luggage back to his room.

And he  _still_  wasn’t wearing a goddamn  _shirt_.

Ishimaru stared mutely, his mouth twisting down into a frown, his brows knitting, his cheeks blazing.  Everything was happening at once.  In the past week, he’d gotten two roommates, one of which was a delinquent and the other of which was _female_.  He’d gone all day without actually eating a meal.  His day had been a series of unfortunate events playing in a domino effect-like fashion.  

And to top it off, his roommate was  _attractive._

Everything was Mondo’s fault.   _Everything._

Ishimaru turned on his heel and stormed off to his bedroom, feeling tears prick the edges of his eyes.  Once safely behind closed doors, he threw himself on the bed, burying his face in his pillow and letting out a long, muffled scream of anguish.   _Everything was going wrong and he couldn’t deal with it._

As Ishimaru adjusted his head on his pillow, he felt something hard and rectangular underneath it, and he grimaced.  Oh, no.  He had to  _add_  him, didn’t he.  

With a begrudging sigh, Ishimaru withdrew a small, black notebook from its hiding spot.  Inside was a small, short list written in tiny, neat penmanship; it consisted of several ladies’ names and short blurbs about each one.

“aoi - such a very well developed and powerful woman, who knows discipline  very admirable.”

“celestia - a proper lady, rather intelligent, very beautiful. she knows the rules well.”

Now, Ishimaru scrawled something new on the page.  His writing was rougher than it had been on the previous entries, an angry scrawl that marred the list of people he had romantic interests in.

“mondo -  _FUCK THAT GUY_ ”


End file.
